5-17
by Thorleif
Summary: Denmark is visiting friends that live rather far away, and has only been gone for little more than a day before a disturbing call brings him racing home. Once inside the house, the very sight he was dreading awaits him, although he never could have dreamed of the scene before him.


Denmark had been on a trip to visit some of his old friends that he didn't talk to very often anymore for awhile. The Dane was beginning to miss his home, as well as his multitude of "brothers". Of course, Denmark's friends had asked him how his brothers were. Denmark responded with a shrug.

"They're… How they've always been." He said casually as he took a swig of his beer. His old friends blinked at him in response, in a way that asked " _That's_ your answer?" but simply laughed a bit as they took a gulp of their own beer.

"What kind of an answer is that?" The Prussian nation asked the Danish a few seconds later. The Dane grinned slightly.

"The honest one. It's hard to say how we all are." Denmark answered.

"Well, could you try a bit harder, bro?" The American asked, laughing. Denmark rolled his eyes a bit.

"If you had the amount of brothers I have, America, you would understand." The Dane responded and all three of them laughed heartily before drinking more from their mugs. "Are you two treating yourselves well?" The Danish man asked after a few moments of silence in the air. Prussia and America looked at each other, shrugging.

"I've been basically doing nothing almost every day ever since the wall fell." Prussia responded, and America gave one of his signature smiles.

"You know, just being the hero I am I have my hands full. I've been doing my best to take care of myself, but England seems to think I fail at that task." The American stated while scratching at the back of his head awkwardly. "But hey, he's always been a bit of a jerk." He added, leaning forward in his chair before he shook his head gently. "Never mind us, how are you? You've seemed busy." America asked the Dane. Denmark bit his lip before answering.

"I've been doing good." He paused to grin. "But as you said, I've been busy."

"With what?" Prussia questioned, leaning back in his chair. Denmark shook his head.

"Nothing that important, just doing more than I used to." The Dane responded. Just at that moment, Denmark's phone went off. He excused himself from the table and answered. "Mathias speaking." He said into the receiver.

"Ah… And… You would be the one who put Mr. Bondevik under surveillance, correct?" The caller asked. Denmark's heart immediately sped up. Since he knew Norway would probably try something–that was in Denmark's eyes classifiable as stupid–the Danish nation had put the Norwegian one under watch so he would know if anything happened.

"Ja, that would be me." Denmark stated, his tongue dry. He gulped nervously.

"I've called to regrettably inform you that Lukas Bondevik was found in his home with several knives stuck into him. It is a supposed suicide, although we have no idea of his certain death. It is said that Emil Steilsson, of whom was reportedly visiting at the time found the body." Denmark's stomach plummeted. Tears began welling up around his eyes, and he leaned against the wall to help support his now weak legs.

"Thank you… For telling me…" He choked out.

"I'm sorry for your loss, sir." The caller stated, and their voice truly did sound sympathetic. Denmark hung up on the person before they had a chance to say anything more. He grabbed his coat from the back of his chair, not saying anything to the others, who were giving him very strange looks. Denmark ran out of the building and began sprinting back to his hotel, of which he promptly gathered his things and checked out, buying a ticket on the next flight back to his home.

As soon as Denmark was out of the airport and back home, he quickly began the travel to Norway's house, which wasn't that far from his own. He burst through the door that was so familiar and ran to where he knew Norway's corpse laid, even though the person who called him hadn't told him where the body was. When Denmark's eyes laid on the hulked body, a cry escaped his throat.

The scene before him was far worse than what had been described. Norway's eyes, which were open, were vacant and expressionless. While that was normal, the life that had always been in them, that slight spark behind those dark blue hues, it was gone. The corpse's back laid against the wall, the legs bent toward the chest but still sticking forward. Not one knife, not two, not three, but sixteen knives stuck out of Norway's chest in a crude 5/17. Denmark's Knees gave way and he fell to the ground, right next to the corpse. The Dane reached out to cup Norway's cold cheek, tears streaming down his face as he did so. Norway's lifeless head fell into the weight and the position of the vacant eyes moved with the head so that they were stared directly through Denmark. It was at this point when Denmark noticed a faint wet trail that went down Norway's cheek.

The path of a tear.

It was at this moment when Denmark also noticed that the corners of Norway's mouth were twitched upward slightly, in what would have been a weak smile.

Denmark's face crumpled, and he pressed his forehead to Norway's. "You… I told you not… I told you not to kill yourself. I told you to take _care_ of yourself while I was gone…" Denmark choked this out in between sobs. Denmark felt the hilts of the knives pressing against his chest and he looked down. Full of agony, Denmark gently began pulling the knives out of Norway's corpse, setting them down on the ground. Once they were all out of Norway, Denmark took a sad look at the body in front of him. Holes were punched in the blue outfit he normally wore where the knives had been dug in; blood had stained the entire front-side of the Norwegian's body.

Denmark ran his hand from Norway's cheek down to the limp hand that hung at the Norwegian nation's side. Denmark's fingers found their way between the nooks and crannies in between the others' and more tears escaped Denmark's eyes as he squeezed the still hand. The action reminded him of all of the times Norway had actually squeezed back… It had always made Denmark's day when Norway would do something like that.

But the Dane quickly learned that those days were rare.

The days had still given him hope, though.

Hope that Norway would get better; hope that the end wouldn't be the way it turned out anyway.

But Denmark continued staring at the hand and the unmoving fingers that were forcibly entwined with his and couldn't stop his memories flooding through his mind.

Norway, climbing up a cliff; Denmark, holding his hand out to the other. Norway taking the extended hand gratefully.

Norway, holding Iceland's small hand on one side; Denmark holding the free hand of Norway. Everyone happy, Norway smiling lightly.

Norway, staring at the mountains of his country as he walked along a small path; Denmark reaching out his hand, the Norwegian noticing the movement and meeting the Dane halfway with his own hand.

Norway, leaning on Denmark's shoulder; Denmark putting his hand over the Norwegian's.

Norway at the meeting that was held over their union, holding out his right palm and meeting Denmark's gaze as they shook hands.

Norway, his eyes expressionless as normal, a gun pressed up to the flesh underneath his jawbone; Denmark, putting his hands over Norway's and pulling the gun away from him gently. A sad aura emanating from the Norwegian that Denmark knew would never leave.

Norway, enveloped in Denmark's arms, taking Denmark's hand as Norway promised that he would never leave him again.

That promise, like many others, had obviously been broken.

"You lied again, you idiot." Denmark said softly, a small and forced laugh escaping his throat. "You lied." He whispered, pulling Norway closer to him. Denmark laid Norway across himself so the limp head rested against his left shoulder, the legs laid almost pathetically across his right side. This only caused more painful flashbacks for the Dane.

Norway, curled up against him in the cold.

Norway, falling asleep for the first time in what felt like a month next to Denmark.

Norway and Denmark on a couch, watching a movie together, the Norwegian resting his head on the Dane's shoulder.

Norway drinking a small cup of coffee while leaning against him.

And now, Norway was gone.

Denmark put his arms around the corpse, digging his head into the crook of Norway's neck. It was cold and almost clammy.

He was gone. Gone, forever.

And Denmark hadn't been able to save him.

Grief wracked the Dane's body as that fact went over and over in his head. Norway had killed himself; Denmark had no doubt in his mind, but had waited until the Dane was absent, most likely so that there would be no one to stop him. Mathias knew that when the police came back and ran the autopsy on Norway's body, there would be a high amount of sleeping drugs and caffeine in his systems, along with a lack of food in the Norwegian's stomach. That was, of course, considering Norway's body didn't fade before the autopsy was performed.

The Danish man's light blue eyes ran up and down Norway's damaged and bloody body. It was the same person that Denmark had seen grow up, had always tried to protect, had come to know so well. Denmark moved his hand slowly to Norway's face. He split his index and middle finger from each other, folding the other three down as he rested his extended fingers on Norway's eyelids, sliding them down.

The Dane smiled sadly. "Almost looks like you're sleeping, Norgie." A tear slipped from his eyelash and ran down his face, dripping onto the body as Denmark laughed. "As if you ever did that."

At that moment, Denmark realized that the scene before him wouldn't be the worst of the police's problems. Denmark reached over for one of the knives lying on the ground, still coated in Norway's blood. He wiped it off on his coat sleeve until it was clean of all blood.

"I always told you, Norway. If you left this world, well…" He trailed off as he talked to the unresponsive person on his lap. "I would too." He finished. He looked at the knife, the metal reflecting a bit of light into his light blue eyes. He thought this over.

Denmark still could go on. He could continue living.

He could drag himself onward through life, and eventually Norway's death would seem like just another part of the troubles that nagged his mind every second of every day. Eventually, over time, the Dane could move on. After all, Iceland still needed someone to look after him…

No.

Denmark would never get over it.

He knew that he would come everyday to pound on his brother's old door only to never get a response, only empty echoes in the woods.

He would always search for the only blonde in the meetings that stared off into the distance with dull, emotionless blue eyes, looking as if he wasn't paying any attention, even though he was always listening.

He knew that when he and Ice met up, it would only be the two of them instead of their normal three.

Denmark would never live it down.

Denmark would never be able to bear living a life without him.

A life without Norway, at least to Denmark, was not a life worth living.

He pressed his mouth to the Norwegian's, lingering for only a small amount of time. He had to do it one last time before he left.

He picked up the knife and positioned it right in front of his heart, making sure the knife was at the right angle to slip under the ribs.

Then he pulled the knife into his flesh as strongly as he could. His death would not be as painful and long as the Norwegian had made his, but he had still virtually taken his own life. As his vision went black and blood poured from his wound, Denmark pulled Norway closer to him. "I'll be with you again soon," he said into the deaf ear of the Norwegian's corpse, smiling as the life drained from him. "I won't let you ever leave me again. We'll be happy together for the rest of all time," he said as his head fell back and his eyes lost any sign of life.

Later on, when the police came back with Iceland to investigate the scene, the other corpse they found took them back. The Danish man, as the Icelandic had informed the police, had passed with the first corpse in his arms and a smile on his face. Iceland looked down at the ground, lost in thought.

To Iceland, it was the worst few days of his life.

His elder brother was dead.

From suicide.

The fact sat uneasily in his gut, guilt threatening to overwhelm him.

Norway had always looked after him. Norway had always been there for him, but he had pushed him away. Iceland hadn't even told him how much it had meant to him, and now he never would be able to.

Denmark, while he had been dreadfully annoying, had also always been there for him.

They had been a family, of sorts. Denmark, Norway and Iceland.

That was how it had been.

Now, it was only Iceland left.

A few tears ran down Iceland's cheeks, but he wiped them away before anyone saw them. He was alone now.

Norway had been right all along. Iceland wasn't a grown-up yet.

He was still a child.

Iceland tipped his head to the ground, refusing to let any of the other people there to see his tears.

Iceland knew that both Norway and Denmark wanted him to keep living, to go on. And the Icelandic knew that they prophesied it would be hard for him to keep moving forward, but Emil felt it was what they wanted.

Iceland would never forget them. He would make sure their legacy continued on in him. He would never let them be lost from the memories of the world.

With permission, Iceland went over to the two countries that had raised him and slid the hairpin cross from Norway's hair. Closing his eyes, he put the pin in his jacket's pocket and stood up, turned around and walked out of the building.

Astonished gasps filled the house suddenly, and Iceland knew that Norway was probably fading. Denmark would shortly follow.

Iceland's hand found the cross pin and silently begged it not to go too. But alas, it soon began to fade as well. Iceland clutched at it until suddenly, there was no more pin for him to hold onto and he found himself clutching at nothing.

"Someday…" Iceland muttered very softly to himself, "I will bring you two back. I don't know how, but I won't let you be gone from me forever." He straightened his stature and took the first step on the very long and painful path he had been destined to walk.

He would find that all his pain would be worth it in the end.


End file.
